


There's A Hole In The World And I'm Pretty Sure It's You-Shaped

by DontOffendTheBees



Series: Kurlish Week (AKA Murder Bro Mania) [4]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Death, Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: Something's weird. Something's wrong. Off-balance. Not just something, everything. Suddenly the whole world is crooked, knocked off is axis and it's all because of this. This guy, this place, her. It all comes back to this moment.It all comes back tohim.Kurlish Week Day 4: 'Angst'





	There's A Hole In The World And I'm Pretty Sure It's You-Shaped

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like all I can say is 'I'm sorry'.

It isn't supposed to go like this.

She just did what she had to do. She followed the thread of fate, she killed that one guy- threw coffee on him, then slashed and stabbed ‘til the job was done. Felt right. It always felt right.

So she turned on the other guy.

The name was still in her head. _Dirk Gently_. It echoed, it beckoned. The guy she just killed wasn't him. So it must be this guy. Must be. Why else would she be here? Why else would everything lead her here?

So she chased him. And he ran- they always ran.

But she always caught them. In the end. It was inevitable. _She_ was inevitable.

A stumble was all it took.

One second he was running, and boy he had good cardio ‘cause Bart was feeling the strain of keeping up. The next he was falling, barely catching himself with his hands on the concrete.

Soon as he stumbled it was all over.

Her machete slashed, swift and true, slicing through air and sound and light and atoms and everything that made up the fundamental basis of the universe, everything that held everything together, the strings and glue and duct tape of reality itself.

When it made contact- when it cut, cut deep- she _felt_ it. Felt it in her soul, in her gut. Watched the blade slice the guy open, shoulder to shoulder, and felt the answering scream in herself as if she'd sunk it into her own flesh.

She hit the floor at the exact same moment he did. And now she can’t get up.

Something's weird. Something's wrong. Off-balance. Not just something, _everything_. Suddenly the whole world is crooked, knocked off is axis and it's all because of this. This guy, this place, her. It all comes back to this moment.

It all comes back to _him_.

She reaches out. Her hand is shaking. She can't remember the last time it did that. She reaches out and she grabs his shoulder and she rolls him onto his back and she looks at his face for the first time.

She only catches a glimpse of the light in his big brown eyes before it goes out for good.

It’s wrong. Something’s wrong.

But what? _How?_ She did what she was s’posed to do- she came, she saw, she killed, that’s how it’s supposed to be. She killed… well, not Dirk Gently, ‘cause she’d _know_ if she’d killed Dirk Gently and she knows that she didn’t so… this was just another guy she was s’posed to kill along the way.

Unless…

It creeps up on her. It starts out as an idea, a dumb idea. A stupid, unrealistic, _crazy_ idea. And then it takes root, and it grows and spreads and sinks its roots into every corner of her mind and morphs into a solid, unshakeable, undeniable truth.

He was the wrong person.

She killed the wrong person.

…No. No, if he’s the wrong person, that means he isn’t dead. ‘Cause she only kills the right people, and he’s wrong, so he’s alive.

She reaches out again. Shoves his shoulder. “Hey, buddy,” she grunts. “Wake up.”

No response. He doesn’t move, or speak. Or breathe.

That’s okay. He’s probably playing dead, so she’ll go away.

She shoves him again. Then shakes him. _“Hey.”_ No response. Shake. “Hey, dickhead. Get up.”

Okay, now he’s just being an asshole about it. She growls and drags him over, head in her lap, blood running down his chest, his shoulders. It drips onto her pants, pools round her knees. That’s okay, she had the other guy’s blood on her already. If this guy’s gotta bleed a bit to make her feel guilty before he gets back to not being dead, that’s his call. She grabs his chin, tilts his head side to side. He’s got a nice face. Soft, no sharp angles. Her skin looks practically white next to his. Or the non-bloody bits do. Not many of those bits right now. “Hey,” she tries again, patting his cheek. “C’mon, buddy, I don’t got all day. Just tell me you’re alive and I’ll get lost. C’mon, just say it: ‘I’m alive’. You do that?”

No response.

Her hands are shaking. She blinks. Too many blinks. Why is she blinking? Wait, yeah, that’s an idea. “Hey, hey- blink twice if you’re alive.”

No response. His eyes stare straight ahead.

Her face feels warm. She frowns, reaching up to rub it. Wet. She looks at her hand. Blood, and… water.

She’s crying.

She shakes her head. “Hey, c’mon,” she chokes. Her throat feels thick. “C’mon, buddy, you gotta help me out here. Just say you’re alive. C’mon, say it. Blink. _Breathe._ C’mon, gimme somethin’.”

Nothing.

Now her whole body’s shaking. She grips the front of his shirt. It gapes away from his chest, exposing the raw, ragged chasm across it. She can see inside. See everything the way it is- broken, and still.

Dead.

Something lands on his face, sparkling like dew. Water. She touches it. Warm. A tear.

Oh, right. It’s hers.

Another one joins it. And another. She blinks but she can’t bottle them back up.

She killed the wrong person.

The _wrong_ person… is dead… and it’s her fault.

A noise grates across her eardrums. Rough and plaintive, a cry of despair.

Takes her a minute to realise that’s hers, too.

Her hand falls away from his face, slumping to the concrete.

It hurts.

She looks at it in panic, breath ripped from her lungs. Why does it hurt? Nothing hurts. She can’t get hurt, she can’t-

The machete. Still covered in blood, discarded by her side. Her hand landed right on the blade.

She lifts it, shaking, whimpering as the metal slides out. She stares horror-struck at her palm, split open thumb to pinky, bleeding.

Bleeding _her_ blood.

Hurts.

She’s hurt. She’s hurt and lost and…

It’s wrong.

She made a mistake. She strayed from the path, someone’s dead who wasn’t supposed to be and it’s her fault. The world is wrong and it’s _her fault._

The universe is broken.

Another ragged cry breaks free from her. More tears fall.

She doesn’t try and stop ‘em this time.

The guy lies, limp, and heavy and growing cold, across her lap. She gathers him close, wraps her arms round him, presses her forehead to his as the remains of his lifeblood leeches out into her clothes, her skin, staining her, marking her.

She doesn’t know how, or why. She doesn’t even know his name. All she knows is this guy is- _was-_ the most important person in the universe.

And now he’s dead.

She closes her eyes against the empty, incriminating stare of his.

Broken.

Everything is broken.


End file.
